


O Dark Dark Dark

by deathwailart



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memorials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Star Trek XI: Kirk/Spock; hurt/comfort – Roslyn by Bon Iver</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Dark Dark Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Uses a quote from East Coker by T S Eliot. Title is also from the same poem.

Jim knows about painful anniversaries.

Every year, despite best efforts his birthdays always had a tinge of sadness to them, little tears in the corners of his mother’s eyes, a tremor in her voice when she sang happy birthday and how she always excused herself. Later, hitting his teens, he just stopped celebrating it and of course, if his mother was planetside there would be gifts and a cake but that was about it. And then Jim got into girls and boys and fast things, alcohol and bar fights and that pretty much took care of that.

Of course the Academy liked to do things and there was always something about remembering the sacrifice of one brave soul but by then there was Bones and he and Bones made a pact (an unspoken pact, a guy pact) to not bring up painful dates and instead they went out drinking or watched bad movies together until Jim generally fell asleep drooling over Bones until he rolled him off the couch and onto the floor.

But Spock is Vulcan. And Jim doesn’t know much about Vulcan anniversaries.

Technically, it’s two more hours until the actual anniversary but Jim doesn’t think that matters overly much, not when he wakes up after having one of those falling dreams (one of those falling dreams with him and Sulu on that drilling platform) and jerks awake so hard he almost falls out the bed. That’s when he notices that not only is the bed empty of the other occupant (the bed sharing is recent, maybe only a month) but it’s cold too so he shakes away the last of the dream and looks for something more than boxers because he may be James T Kirk and captain of the Enterprise but unless there’s some sort of invasion of the ship, he doesn’t roam the halls in his underwear.

He could ask the computer to locate Spock but it’s more soothing to walk the halls, nodding to his crew as he winds his way through the Enterprise and, if the stretch of corridor is empty, run his fingers along smooth panelling as he goes. His feet seem to know where he’s going even if his brain doesn’t and he soon finds himself in the transporter room, empty at this hour of the night usually only Spock is there and Jim can’t blame him. He’s sure that Spock knows he’s there but still, he asks if Spock minds him being there and were this any other time, any other situation, Jim would laugh because Spock actually jumps when he’s addressed. But there’s a look in his eyes that he’s sure Spock would never admit to so Jim sits next to where Spock is crouching on the transporter and rests a hand on his shoulder.

They don’t say anything because a year on, it’s still so raw for everyone. A whole planet gone, taking with it so much culture, so much history and so many lives and yes, the Vulcans can rebuild but that sort of loss leaves scars, deep scars that won’t heal for generations. Jim isn’t sure how to articulate any of what’s in his head so he squeezes and that makes Spock look at him, those dark eyes, so dark and Jim has heard about that hand Spock held out for his mother who never materialised alongside the others.

The loss of a mother is different to the loss of a father. And for all that his mother could be absent, she was still there and Jim was a baby and had no memories of what he did lose. Spock has a lifetime of them.

“If you need to talk,” Jim begins just for something to say because the silence is getting too heavy for him, threatening to drag him down. He wonders how long they’ve been sat here but there’s no subtle way for him to tell. Spock would know.  
“Thank you,” Spock says. “But I do not wish to speak much at this time.”  
Jim nods and shifts so his legs aren’t crossed anymore because they’re starting to fall asleep. “How long have you been here?”  
“For some considerable time. I am not sure why exactly.”  
Jim reaches up, brushes Spock’s hair past his ear and Spock stiffens then so Jim rests his hand on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing little circles. “You should get some sleep.”  
“I assure you I am well rested and will be able to perform my duties tomorrow.”  
“That’s not what I meant.”

Spock doesn’t reply but he shifts into a sitting position too, knees tight to his chest and Jim wonders if he knows how vulnerable that makes him look; it doesn’t matter that he’s a Vulcan; anything sitting with knees drawn up like that looks vulnerable in Jim’s book. So he stands then, holds out his hands and Spock, after several moments of just looking, looking through Jim, looking through the wall, looking through everything, takes them and allows Jim to draw him to his feet and herd him back through to their quarters and Jim is awake now, used to functioning on too little sleep. Spock though is quiet, breathing slowly and deeply and Jim is remembering old songs (very old) and old poems (older still than the songs).

“O dark dark dark,” he says without really knowing why he’s saying it but it’s always stuck with him, “they all go into the dark, the vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant... And cold the sense and lost the motive of action. And we all go with them, into the silent funeral, nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.”

Under the covers, one of Spock’s hands finds his, squeezes and Jim squeezes back and knows that tomorrow – which is less than fifteen minutes away now that he can check – is going to be hell.

He holds Spock’s hand a long time, his hand too hot and the grip too tight until it eventually loosens as Spock goes slack with sleep. He keeps hold of it though as he tries to surrender to sleep, old haunting song rattling around in his head about bones and blood and teeth eroding and crashing low. He runs a thumb over Spock’s knuckles and stretches, warm and if not content (in this mood, with the one year anniversary looming no one can be content) then secure at least to sleep so he can get through tomorrow and be there whenever and for whomever he is needed.


End file.
